PALE TALES OF SAMBURU III

Lolmbooni drove his way back into the heart of the town, to pick his customers and drop them to the different and undisclosed locations. It is friday, members day, the day when many people revel. He was a taxi driver, yes a taxi driver and the lover of our princess. She followed him suit but at a further distance boarding a scooter and went shopping. Shopping was the only excuse for the absence at home.
” Ngutukanit Echakan Construction Company Ltd. How may I help you?”

“Hello Mma? May I speak to the C.E.O Mama Naisula please?”

“She is currently holding a meeting with the shareholders ”

“It is urgent, I must speak to her before it is too late, please….”

“Hello? Hello? Hello?…..” the line went off before the secretary asked the anonymous caller what she was talking about.
Naisula reached home at last after meeting with her friends and former colleague from University Of Nairobi. She found her mum watching Afro Cinema in the living room.

“Why didn’t you tell the driver to take you? Why are we paying your escort for nothing if he doesn’t accompany you? Mmmh?”

“Don’t you think it is risk walking around alone?”

“But Mma? ”

“No buts, if you want to go anywhere just ask them to accompany you it is important,”her mother interrupted.

“That aside someone ranged the company today, asking to talk to me, can you imagine?”

“And who is this someone Mma?”

“The secretary told me she didn’t left her name, but she said she must speak to me urgently before it is too late,” her mum answered.

“Wow! what? Before what is too late?” Naisula asked.

“I don’t know? But I’ll make sure to call her the first thing at Monday.”
“It is mealtime Mma,”the housemaid interrupted their conversation.

They moved to the dinning table. Mama Naisula was served with her savouring meal, Ugali kwa mboga ya kienyeji, toned with a little milk, that was her favourite. They retired to their beds after refilling their tummies.
She’s lying with phlegm at the cornerstone besiding her cubs, which are ribbed with stilled composure by her side. She’s now feeling relieved after a gruelling and long day.

She is a typical depiction of the deformed societal virtues and the camouflaged vices in the street with creds.
The pale verspers cold is kissing the horns of the castles where they once found hospitage at before they were kicked out. The pale horizon of the sun is paving the way for the half moon. It is 7 o’clock in the evening and the fast voice of sheikh is beckoning the muslims to go and present their duas to Allah.

The music and the aroma of champagne binge is undying in the dimly lit room just at the hands of luxurious apartment they’re footed at, someone is fooling another one with a candlelit dinner. There’s no love which beats the one in the Changaa Estate streets, where you’re just raped by some street slapper, get pregnant and add another life into the streets. There’s no love inside these closed doors.

The warm cheers and the flouts of the dipsomaniacs at the nearing Bar and Grill “Pewa pewa. Pewa raundi nyingine kwa bill yangu” are strikingly alive in her ears. They’re drunk as cunt. It is Friday and they are all thanking god after a long and tiresome week the revellers are boozed up amid the music and the amazing vocals of Sanana the late bewitched music hero of the land.

“…sanana sanana sanana. …kebore ntito samburu aang’…..sanana sanana sanana….”
The gloomy posters of hypocritical contenders are protuberantly placed at their headrest. With stupid scribes on it “Vote for Peace. Education. and Developments. Vote for Lentitiyo.”

But the streets folks didn’t gave a rat’s arse about it. They never voted. That is why they are being flushed off the streets by this same leaders whom grabbed their homes.

There are no leaders in the streets. There are no rules in the streets. It’s only street families and street children and the prostitutes and the street dogs. Angelina was much more aware of this.